Burying Sephiroth
by ghost of gene rayburn
Summary: "It won't be easy, in fact, it may be the most difficult thing you've ever had to do. You have to forgive him." With those words, Tifa set out for Nibelheim. It might not have been the good doctor's first choice, but it was Tifa's best one. *ON HOLD*
1. Closure

_A/N: I had a story in mind for a sequel to "Extremities" right after I wrote it, and my wonderful reviewers' encouragement got me in the mood to write it. You've created a monster, guys. ;)_

_The usual disclaimer: Sephiroth, Tifa and the rest of the FF7 characters belong to Square Enix, but since I clearly have a lot of time on my hands, I'll be happy to entertain them for a while. Just don't ask me to explain the huge grins they'll have on their faces when I turn them back in. The only characters of mine are the psychologist, Dr. Holden, and any other supporting or minor characters and extras that may turn up along the way._

~*~*~

"Have you had any of the dreams since I last saw you, Tifa?" Asked Dr. Retha Holden, an elegant woman in her sixties who was the psychologist recommended by Reeve Tuesti. She had been the personal counselor to Shinra executives, and from the looks of her tailored, expensive suit and her well-appointed office, the fall of the company hadn't made too much of an impact on her practice after she'd moved it to Edge to go public.

"Not as often." Tifa stared absently at an arrangement of sweet-smelling freesias on the glass coffee table in front of her. "But they're different."

"In what way?" The woman crossed her legs and poised her pen over her notebook, which sat on the table beside her. The other hand smoothed over her immaculately styled gray hair.

"He wants me to go to him," she replied quietly, her gaze dropping to her hands, which rested in her lap. "He says he needs me."

Recalling the dreams made her anxious. They were no longer as simple as they were before. Instead of her waking immediately after they'd finish, he would pin her down and stare into her eyes, his own filled with a different kind of need.

­_"Tifa, I have to see you," he would whisper against her lips. _

"_You're seeing me right now," she would reply, not understanding and thinking it was still all part of the game._

_"Please," he would say, kissing her as his eyes burned and his hands tightened around her wrists, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to convey his seriousness. "Find me. I want so much to come to you, but it isn't possible. Don't deny me, woman."_

_At that point he would release her to wakefulness with his pleas ringing in her head: "I will never let you go. I can't…" _

The doctor paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Tifa, do you remember what I told you when you first came to see me? About dreams?"

"That dreams are symbolic. Not to be taken literally. They're…um…"

Holden helped her remember. "They're representative of needs that are going unfulfilled, or issues that need to be addressed." She made a few notes. "The unconscious is frustratingly abstract, so it is left up to us to assign meaning to the symbols that illustrate those needs and issues. When you dream of having sex with someone you would never touch in real life, it doesn't necessarily mean that's what you want from that person."

_Oh, if you only knew, doctor_, she thought, embarrassed by how her cheeks flushed when she recalled the dreams' intensity and clarity. "So what _does_ it mean? I know we've talked about this lots of times, but I still need to hear it."

"It could mean a lot of things. Maybe on some level you need to connect with him and tell him something." After an uncomfortable silence, Holden continued. "Where does he ask you to go? I'm going to guess that it's Nibelheim. Is that right?"

Tifa nodded.

"What do you think that means?"

"With all due respect, if I knew that I wouldn't be here."

"Humor me."

Tifa let out quiet sigh and thought about it. "It's where it all went to hell. Where he ruined my life." After a heartbeat she lifted her gaze to Holden with a look of revelation.

The psychologist picked up where she left off. "It's pretty clear, isn't it? You have spent the last eleven years obsessing over this man and what he has done. You try to move on, but that won't happen until you get closure."

"So you're saying I should _go_ to Nibelheim?"

"If that's what it takes, but I would use that as a last resort," Holden replied. "Nibelheim has been abandoned since Shinra collapsed. Monsters no doubt have the run of the place by now. If not them, then all manner of squatters have taken up residence, and I don't need to tell you what they would no doubt have in mind for a woman traveling alone." She set her pen down and faced Tifa. "I was thinking more along the lines of finally facing what happened full on and putting it behind you for good. I can't help but think you've been avoiding the issue; that it was never truly resolved for you. As long as you can't close the book, Sephiroth will always haunt you in one way or another. These dreams are a way of telling you that."

"So if going back to Nibelheim is out of the question, what should I do?"

The doctor took a moment to uncross her legs and smooth the creases from her lavender skirt. "It won't be easy, in fact, it may be the most difficult thing you've ever had to do. You have to forgive him."

The doctor's words left Tifa momentarily speechless. The rational side of her understood that what Holden said was true, she just never expected to hear it out loud. She was correct, though, that it would be the hardest thing Tifa would ever face. Perhaps it was beyond her abilities. "I- I don't know…"

"It's the most important first step. Forgiving him will release him. As long as your life has ground to a halt because of him, he will always have a symbolic hold. Nothing can excuse the things he has done, not even his illness. Forgiveness will be strictly for your own well-being."

"So if I do that, he'll leave me alone?"

"No, _you'll_ leave _him_ alone. He has been dead for a long time, Tifa. He can't hurt you anymore. At this point, it is in your control. He was a very, very sick man, and there's not a person on this planet that he hasn't hurt, but he's gone now. He's only a memory, and that memory needs to be retired so you can truly begin to heal."

Tifa let out a mirthless laugh. "I will…never be a memory," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Beg pardon?"

"It was the last thing he said to Cloud. 'I will never be a memory.'"

"I'd say it's time to prove him wrong." After a brief period of silence, the clock on the table beside Holden dinged softly. "That's our hour. Do you need more time?"

"I think I'm okay," Tifa said, rising from the overstuffed chair she was sitting in.

"Good. So I'll see you in a week?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Just think about we discussed today. We can work on a plan when you come back." She rose, reached out a well-manicured hand to take Tifa's and shook it. "Okay?"

"Sure." She allowed the psychologist to lead her to the door and open it for her, but she paused. "Dr., you mentioned Sephiroth's illness."

"Yes. Without seeing him I can't make a true diagnosis, but his mental state has been speculated upon in psychiatric journals since Shinra released his records. From all descriptions of his behavior that I've seen and heard, I believe he was deeply psychotic, and that the illness was brought about by several days of sleep deprivation and malnutrition in that library, as well as severe stress."

"I see."

The woman's expression darkened slightly, as she had an idea of what Tifa was thinking. "Yes, if someone had realized what was going on and paid closer attention to him, the results might have been different." She chose her next words carefully. "But he was Cloud and his friend's superior, he ordered them to leave him alone and they were too young to understand what he was going through. I'm sure that if anyone who cared about him knew what could happen, they would have knocked him out somehow and dragged him out of there." She put a hand on Tifa's shoulder. "Nothing can change what's been done. Don't torture yourself with what-ifs. You have more immediate things to focus on."

"I know," she replied, saddened but accepting of the doctor's words. "See you next week."

With that, she left the office and headed home. She didn't know where to start with her assigned task, but the doctor's words stayed with her. If she didn't at least try to forgive him and turn her back on him, she would always belong to Sephiroth.

The doctor had it wrong, though. She didn't realize how powerful he truly was, and that if he wanted to badly enough, he could return to the world of the living. It wouldn't be anywhere near as cut and dried as Holden thought it would be, because after all of the dreams she had, filled lately with his insistent pleas to see her, it wasn't simply a matter of purging him from her mind. There was a lot more going on, she just wasn't entirely aware of the implications.

She resolved to go straight back to Seventh Heaven, leave the bar in Barret's capable hands for a few days, and take a long-overdue trip home. The good doctor had said that going back was a last resort and that she should concentrate on forgiveness, but she was beginning to believe that one could not be done without the other.

~*~*~

_Additional A/N: Looks like this one is going to have a few more chapters than I originally intended. I hope you don't mind. Don't worry, there will be plenty of the smoofy stuff later._

_I pictured Vanessa Redgrave when writing Dr. Holden._

_–GoGR_


	2. Ruins

_Thanks for the reviews, guys. Hopefully there won't be too much time between chapters, but I still want to make sure that they're good enough to put up. You've all been very kind, so I don't want to post anything I think is poor quality._

~*~*~

The Shera flew at a low altitude over the ruins of Midgar on its trip back to Rocket Town. The WRO had briefly considered rebuilding the abandoned city, but even with Rufus Shinra's financial help, the project was deemed too expensive, so efforts and funds were directed toward developing Edge. All that remained of the once-proud headquarters of the empire was the deteriorating skeletons of buildings, reactors and industrial structures to serve as a reminder of the consequences of hubris.

It was this hubris on the part of the Shinra Corporation that indirectly caused the city's downfall and the near-collapse of the world's economy. They created the very weapon of mass destruction that brought them down. Knowing himself to be answerable to no one, Rufus's father blithely gave the green light to a project that would give him nearly unlimited power in the form of a man who was genetically altered in his mother's womb to be the strongest and fastest human alive. He was raised in near-isolation, conditioned to have unwavering loyalty to his Shinra masters. No thought was given to the impact of raising a child to be a war machine and using any means necessary to create the perfect soldier, including lies and brutality. Sephiroth was the perfect slave, and toxic pride prevented anyone from acknowledging what could happen when a slave finds out the truth and turns on his masters.

Tifa exhaled against one of the Shera's large windows, and then drew meaningless patterns in the condensation with one of her fingers. Sephiroth had been on her mind almost constantly since she had made the decision to return to Nibelheim. Dr. Holden had advised her not to concern herself with what-ifs, but that didn't stop her from wondering whether his hatred and insanity came from entirely within himself or whether it was beaten into him.

She had taken the time to read the records provided to her by the forever-repentant Rufus. She read all about how Sephiroth never cried when he was a baby, never spoke a word until he was four years old and was so inwardly focused in his early childhood that he was thought to be autistic. These aspects of his personality were not so much cured as torn from him with the aid of painful treatments and experimental drug therapies. He was also cut, burned, beaten and injected with viruses to test his endurance. They were things that no normal person could have survived for long, but were continuously done to Sephiroth when Hojo was satisfied that the boy could handle it. Perhaps the only thing that kept the tests from being more brutal was that even a monster like Hojo couldn't bring himself to do that to his own son. However, that paternal affiliation wasn't enough for the man to show him anything approaching love.

While no amount of abuse or neglect could justify his atrocities, Tifa still had to wonder how things would have turned out for the proud warrior if he were considered more than someone's science project all those years ago. Could things have turned out differently if his handlers had realized that he was a human being as well as a potential weapon?

She remembered Cloud telling her about Sephiroth's friendship with Zack, who also told of how Sephiroth considered two other men whose names she couldn't remember to be like his brothers. He _was_ capable of connecting with people and forming relationships, and people thought enough of him to admire him for reasons other than his fame and rank. He may even have fallen in love once or twice for all Tifa knew. He wasn't soulless after all. Perhaps if he had been, his rampage might have been avoided.

Tifa pushed those thoughts away before they could really flourish. As Dr. Holden told her, nothing could change what had been done, and the past needed to stay where it was.

"Tifa?" Shera Highwind came up behind her carrying two steaming mugs. "I thought you might like some tea."

"I'd love some. Thanks." She accepted the mug, grateful for the interruption.

Shera smiled warmly and gestured toward a table and chairs a few feet away. "Come on away from the window. You must be freezing!"

Tifa accepted, glad to have the company to distract her from her thoughts. The two women sat and chatted, and then Cid joined them about ten minutes later.

"With a good tail wind, we oughta make Rocket Town in about four hours," he announced, taking a seat. "Engine 5 is actin' up, but nothin' we need to worry about."

"I told you to replace the solenoid," Shera said matter-of-factly.

Cid pointedly ignored his wife, even though he knew she was right. He turned to Tifa. "So what made you decide to go to Nibelheim, anyway?"

"Long story. It's just something I need to do," she replied. "I really appreciate you guys taking me. You know, you didn't have to go through all the trouble."

"Eh, it was no trouble, doll," he assured, lighting up a cigarette. "We was headed back for a while anyway to visit Shera's sister. She's the only one of my in-laws who can stand me."

"You know that's not true, Cid," Shera admonished. "My mom likes you."

"Last time she saw me she called me a ragin' jackass!"

"Well you don't want to know what she'd have called you if she _didn't_ like you! Besides, you were acting like one."

Tifa amusedly observed the couple's mild bickering. It amazed her how two people so different managed to hold it together as well as they did. Especially considering the resentment Cid had harbored toward the engineer, blaming her for the thwarting of his career as an astronaut. For so long, he held her responsible for his aborted dreams. If forgiveness could come so easily for someone like him and even make room for deeper feelings…

_No. _She clamped down on her thoughts as she saw them heading in a familiar direction. What happened between Cid and Shera was totally different from what she faced. Totally different. She silently chastised herself for making this all about her.

"You've been pretty quiet, Tifa," said Shera. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, sure!" She answered, sounding a little to shrill to herself. After a moment she asked, "Do you…think people can change?"

"Depends on the person I guess," Cid answered, grounding out his cigarette. "What, is Spike still bein' a little shit?"

Tifa chucked and shook her head. Cloud was growing introverted again, leaving for weeks at a time, but she was actually grateful to have the space. "Nah, it's not him. I just…"

Shera understood. "I think I know where you're going with this. Heading back to Nibelheim after all these years, I suppose you can't help but…recall certain things."

Cid let out a bitter laugh that was cut off with a sharp look from Shera. "I hope you ain't talkin' about who I think you're talkin' about."

"No, of course not," she lied.

He looked at her for a long moment, and then spoke quietly. "Tifa, that god damn mass murderer got what he deserved four years ago, and he's dead. He ain't comin' back. As for changin'…" he lit up another cigarette. "What difference would it make after all he did? And who's to say he even _could_ change?"

Tifa avoided his gaze, not really knowing what to say.

"I mean, the guy was crazier'n a shithouse rat. That kinda crazy goes all the way to the bone. He didn't get that way 'cuz he missed out on a few hugs growin' up, ya know?"

"I know. I never said I was trying to change anyone. I was just talking." She felt a bit miffed at him, not knowing if he was being condescending or just trying to explain his thoughts in his own gruff way.

"This is why you wanna go to Nibelheim?" He asked, taking a drag.

"Yes," she said after some thought. "Someone a lot smarter than me told me that the best way to bury him once and for all is to try to forgive him."

"That person was right." It was Shera who spoke this time. "I hope you're able to do it."

"Yeah, me too," said Cid. "He don't deserve it, but if it helps you any, it's all good, I guess."

Tifa hoped it would be that simple, but didn't expect it to be. "We'll see."

After about a half hour, the Highwinds went off to busy themselves with tasks around the ship, and Tifa, after offering to help but being told there wasn't much she could do, lay down on a sofa. She had gotten little sleep the night before, as equal parts excitement and trepidation about the trip made her fitful. She didn't realize how exhausted she was until she sunk down into the overstuffed sofa and soon found it nearly impossible to keep her eyes open. Within five minutes, she was sleeping soundly.

The dream was different. In it, she stood at the rusty gates of Shinra Manor, with Nibelheim at her back. In her mind the town had been partially rebuilt, with more work being done. There was even an inn that, while used mostly as a hostel for construction workers, was open to the public.

She pushed the gates open with some difficulty, and its little-used hinges groaned in protest. Her mind was blank and her heart was empty as she made her way up the gravel path, hearing the stones crunch under her feet along with the dead leaves that blanketed them. The spring air was crisp, but she barely felt it. When she reached the front doors she pulled them open, their hinges issuing the same complaint as those of the gate.

The floor and objects in the foyer were coated with a thick layer of dust, and motes of it swirled in the slats of murky sunlight that pushed their way through the grimy windows. Furniture, tables and other items were broken and scattered, indicating that some sort of fight had occurred, but the undisturbed condition of the dust told her that it wasn't recent.

She heard a shuffling noise from a shadowy corner and spun around, her heart pounding. "Vincent?" She called out, knowing that he sometimes rested there. She took a careful step toward the door. If it wasn't him, she wanted to get out before whoever, or whatever, made the sound could get to her. She hadn't forgotten the monsters she'd had to battle in this house, and knew they were relentless. If one was killed, six more showed up for the funeral.

"He's not here, Tifa." The voice, _Sephiroth's_ voice, sounded from behind her. She slowly turned in a full circle, her eyes searching the murk but not seeing him.

"What did you do with Vincent?" She demanded, her hands gathering into fists.

"I've done nothing," he replied, his voice unreadable. "He hasn't been here in months."

She felt the air stir behind her, and it almost felt like fingers brushing through her hair. She spun around, but no one was there.

"Tifa, I can feel you getting closer." A hand on her shoulder made her spin around again. There he was, in all his sinister beauty. She backed away slowly until her back met the wall.

"Surely you're not still afraid of me after all of our time together, are you?" He asked, the corner of his perfect mouth curling up in a smirk that was somewhere between mocking and playful.

"I was never afraid of you," she said, her voice thick and unconvincing. "You're not real."

"It's a dream, love," he replied, his voice soft and deceptively soothing. "None of this is real. Not yet, anyway."

He advanced on her until their faces were only a short distance apart. "It won't be long now." Without preamble, he drew her into a kiss, his lips insistent.

She struggled half-heartedly. As always it was her survival instinct that spurred her to run, but feeling his warm lips on hers, she really didn't want to. Each second of contact weakened her until she abandoned herself to him, leaning into him as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands slid around her waist while the other trailed up her back and he wove his gloved fingers through her hair.

He pulled her tightly against him and for the first time in a long series of dreams, she felt her control over the situation slip. He was gaining power, no longer content to let her direct events. It scared her, and yet…

He broke the kiss abruptly and stepped back into the shadows. "Find me," he commanded, and her eyesight faded to white.

The next thing she knew, she was awake and slightly agitated. During her nap, someone had covered her in a blanket, and she drew it around her shoulders as she sat up. She rose from the couch and walked over to the large window. The Shera flew through a familiar range of mountains, and she knew they were close to Rocket Town.

Despite her apprehension, she felt profound relief. The sooner they arrived, the sooner she could hire a car and make her way to Nibelheim. If the past wasn't retired, she would just continue to dream of Sephiroth and his ghost would keep gaining control until the gods only knew what kind of basket case she would become. As much as it would hurt to see her doomed hometown again, she had to face it for the sake of her sanity.


	3. Old Souls

_A/N: And the beat goes on. As always, thanks to all of you who have reviewed; you've been more than kind. You give me more credit than I deserve! I hope my story lives up to or even exceeds your expectations. _

_Sorry for the delay, this chapter was a real bitchkitty to write. I confess that I'm one of those people who gets to Chapter Two then runs out of inspiration, so making it to Chapter Three is a good sign. _

~*~*~

Despite Dr. Holden's assumption that Nibelheim was deserted, the town was enjoying the beginnings of a revival.

The new town bore little resemblance to the original or the actor-populated copy that was built upon its ashes, but that was by design. Although many of the structures that were hastily reconstructed by Shinra still stood, as people arrived to carve out their new lives, the buildings were torn down and replaced.

The primary reason was that these older structures were shoddily built and not meant to stand the test of time, so within a few years of their construction they deteriorated and became unstable. It simply made more sense to clear them away and start from scratch in most cases. It was essentially a brand new town, but the name remained Nibelheim mostly because it never occurred to anyone to come up with another one.

People were drawn to the area because it belonged to no one. It had been abandoned after the fall of Shinra and was anyone's for the taking. Many of them were from Edge, and had crossed over from the Eastern Continent after having grown tired of struggling to make a living in a city whose future even after six years was still precarious. The coast was only a short distance from Nibelheim, and many people had heard rumors that the fish were so abundant one could walk across the water on their backs. That claim turned out to be highly fanciful, but rooted in enough truth that those who arrived early on and staked their claim were able to find success in fishing.

Not all people came for that reason. A small group shared the sensation of having been pulled there for reasons they couldn't quite explain. If someone had taken the time to study these people, they would have noticed that all of them were young families with at least one child under ten years old. They also would have observed that these children, formerly sullen and misbehaved, grew more content as they drew closer to the town. But since no such study was undertaken, the parents simply concluded that it was a positive side effect of the fresh country air.

As the families settled in, aspects of the children's personalities emerged, and some of them began expressing interest in things that they never had before. Two nine-year-old girls, Lotte and Trina became instant best friends. However, they didn't play house or with dolls as one would expect from little girls Instead, they pretended they were soldiers, using sticks as swords. Their mothers thought it an odd choice of entertainment, but otherwise condoned it.

A three-year-old boy named Obie joined them nearly every day, mostly sitting and watching the two but occasionally he was permitted to join in their mock battles. Lotte merely tolerated him, but Trina treated him with sisterly devotion. Obie slowly came out of his shell and revealed a bright, loving personality, and the other children were drawn to him. Soon nearly all of them had formed a tight-knit group, which pleased their parents to no end.

Ten-year-old Adel would often join his parents in the pub they had opened, not merely getting underfoot as children his age tended to do, but talking to customers, helping his father and even sometimes serving drinks to patrons, who would tip him with coins and trinkets. Eight-year-old Dita would help her mother bake cookies, and then would take batches of them to her friends, instructing them with motherly sternness to share. Others would play shoemaker, scientist, police officer and a host of other activities they hadn't expressed interest in previously. Their parents were happy to see their children settling in so well and making friends easily.

Inhabitants arrived and departed, some only staying for a week or two before deciding that they were more suited to the order and predictability of Edge. The population was still in enough of a state of flux that xenophobia had not set in; so little notice was taken of new faces. This casual attitude toward strangers worked in the drifter's favor.

No one remembered exactly when he had turned up in town, he was simply there one day, inquiring if anyone was willing to pay him to kill the monsters that threatened the town. Violent and often fatal attacks were common, so the unofficial sheriff, a pigeon-chested man previously from Icicle, eagerly accepted his offer. After that, monsters no longer attacked so no one asked questions of the man for fear that such inquiries would drive him out of town and leave them yet again vulnerable. He was anonymous and rarely spoke to others unless it was to accept a job.

His looks were unmemorable. He wasn't plain, in fact, he was handsome enough to turn a few heads, but once he was gone from sight, his face would fade from people's minds. They would recall a tall young man with long, dark hair, possibly of Wutai descent, and those details would become hazy as time wore on. Even his impressive weapon, a katana nearly as tall as him, didn't stay in mind for long. This was deliberate. It was a carefully constructed illusion intended for his anonymity.

However, the younger children knew. They saw through the glamour to the silver-haired man beneath it all. Perhaps that was because children didn't yet understand that there was no such thing as ghosts or magic that was not aided by materia, so sightings of that nature were nothing unusual to them. Or perhaps the illusion wasn't intended for them, and even if it were, they still would have seen, because they were the reason he had come to Nibelheim, even if neither they nor he realized it yet.

When he was seen in town, the children were never far behind. They followed him through the streets and watched him from the windows of their homes. When he would walk by, they stopped what they were doing, their eyes following him until he disappeared into a building or rounded a corner. He spoke to none of them and avoided their sometimes angry and accusing, sometimes despondent gazes. Still, they were drawn to him.

Lotte and Trina, with little Obie in tow as usual, took the greatest interest. The mothers were a little concerned because they knew nothing of him, but decided the girls simply had a crush on the handsome young man and let them have their fun after warning them about the possible dangers. He did nothing to acknowledge the trio, in fact he often appeared to be trying to get away from them, so their mothers figured they'd get over their seeming infatuation with the man.

The mothers had it wrong. Awake, the children didn't know why they were drawn to him. They knew he was different, that there was something special about him. The feelings he inspired in them were too complex for them to understand, and they only vaguely connected them to him. Instead, they dealt with them in the way young children tended to do, becoming moody or irritable if the feelings were bad or dismissing them out of hand if they weren't.

But at night, after they had gone to sleep, their spirits left their little bodies and went walking.

They always knew where to find him, and that was usually at the shore. He slept little, so many of his nights were spent staring balefully at the ocean, shivering against the cold night air. As they drew closer, understanding dawned. They became the adults they were before the Planet decided that they had to return after their previous lives ended prematurely.

Lotte and Trina found him sitting cross-legged on an outcropping of rock, and they went to him, sitting in front of him, blocking his view of the ocean. Obie took his place beside him.

Sephiroth knew to expect them most nights. Even sleep wasn't an effective deterrent if one of them had something they wanted to say. His expression didn't change when they joined him or when he looked to the beach and saw the rest of the children standing there, looking at him expectantly. He closed his eyes and sighed inwardly.

When he re-opened them, the children sitting near him were gone and in their place were three men. As usual, Genesis spoke first.

"So how are you feeling, Sephiroth?" His voice was devoid of the sneering sarcasm Sephiroth had come to know in their previous times together. That would have been preferable to the feigned pity he currently saw.

"Fuck off, Genesis."

"It's an honest question," Genesis continued, seemingly unaffected by the verbal abuse. "This can't be easy for you."

"What do you want me to say?" The only thing that stopped him from leaping forward and wrapping his hands around the redhead's neck was knowing how stupid he would feel when he passed right through the immaterial spirit and landed flat on his face, and how much that would amuse Genesis. "Do you want to see me break down and cry over what I've lost?"

"Is that what you want to do?" Genesis asked, obviously fighting the urge to mock.

"Genesis," Angeal sighed. "You're not helping."

"And I've lost nothing," Sephiroth spat at the redhead, his voice simmering with resentment. "My mind is as powerful as my body would have been if the things hadn't gone wrong. Should I prove it to you? Perhaps I could cast a glamour to make your mother think I was your father and have a go at her, hm? Or maybe I could see to it that their catch for the day turns up spoiled. I wouldn't even need to get out of bed for that one."

Genesis laughed with bitter amusement as he watched his former friend grow angrier. It wasn't that he wanted to see Sephiroth upset, he was just enjoying the irony. The man who had inspired such searing jealousy in him because he was always the best and the strongest had been reborn as what he had grown to hate most: a normal, frail human, albeit one with mental abilities that went beyond any mastery of materia.

Zack shifted uncomfortably beside Sephiroth, and when he spoke, his voice was pleading and tinged with weariness. "C'mon, guys. Don't do this."

Despite himself, Sephiroth's anger dissipated slightly at the pitiful plea. It was the effect Zack had on him. He would have called it a "soft spot" if he were feeling generous. He let out an exasperated sigh. "So why are you all here this time? Checking up on me?"

"Well, yes," said Angeal.

"What about them," he jerked his head in the direction of the beach, where a group of people stood. There were two men in lab coats: a Wutai man with his long, black hair pulled into a stringy ponytail, and a bookish-looking fellow with light brown hair and glasses. His clothing was riddled with bullet holes. Sephiroth disregarded the latter man in favor of glaring hatefully at the former. The man averted his eyes and gazed down at the sand. They were surrounded by people Sephiroth didn't know: a blonde woman covered in burns, a dark-haired man with a mustache and a blue, button-down shirt, the front of which was torn and covered in blood, and several others in similar states of injury.

"I don't know," Zack replied, his voice quiet as he absently fiddled with the zipper on his boot. "I guess they have their reasons."

"Except for Gast and Hojo, they're all people I killed," Sephiroth noted. "But why so few of them? If all of my victims were reincarnated along with you, this town couldn't hold all of them."

"I don't know, Sephiroth. Ask the planet," Angeal retorted, exasperated.

"I would, but I'm still trying to get an explanation for this…sick joke," he gestured toward himself, feeling angry and disgusted. "But I've not gotten an answer to _that_ question, either."

"Maybe it's your punishment," Genesis offered, pensive this time instead of confrontational. "Maybe it's to teach you a lesson. Or maybe you were in just too big of a hurry to claw your way out of the Lifestream this time so you left your Jenova cells sitting on the dresser." He laughed at his own joke. "I've got my own problems to think about, like why the Planet decided to go against it's own nature and randomly reincarnate a handful of people. And to spit me back out as a damn _girl_ for Shiva's sake!"

"Oh, I'm sure it's my fault somehow," Sephiroth shot back, his voice laden with sarcasm.

"It is," Zack said. "I mean…everyone here is connected to you somehow." He cringed slightly when Sephiroth turned to him and glared. "Beyond that, well, you're probably the only one that really knows why you're here."

Sephiroth looked away quickly. His expression told an obvious story.

"You _don't_ know, do you?"

"Of course I do."

"You just don't remember."

After a tense moment, Sephiroth rose and began walking away. "This conversation is over."

He didn't look back as he made his way down the beach. He didn't need to in order to know what kind of looks those sanctimonious bastards were aiming at him. They were no doubt very pleased by his predicament, and he was sure that the others they brought along with them felt the same way. He wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of knowing that since he had discovered his latest incarnation was one of frail humanity, he found himself consumed by one emotion he had never expected could touch him.

Fear.

This fear was compounded by the fact that Zack was correct. He couldn't remember his purpose for coming back. He couldn't even recall if it was his decision to do so, or if the Lifestream had spat him back out as some sort of punishment. He was lost and weak, and that infuriated and humiliated him as much as it terrified him.

He had nearly gotten himself killed on a few occasions because he had no idea how normal humans coped with their limitations. That wouldn't do at all. Dying would certainly free him from his inferiority, but he'd be damned if it would happen if, say, he forgot he could no longer fly and ended up flattened at the bottom of a ravine. That would have been almost comical, and there was no way he'd tolerate being remembered as the idiot who jumped off a cliff for no reason.

Perhaps worst of all, Mother no longer spoke to him. But then, she wasn't really his mother after all. "She" was an "it," and it was an alien from some godforsaken corner of space. The Planet wasted no time making it clear to him that he had a normal conception and birth, and that he was the product of an experiment. The title of Mother went to a scientist who sacrificed her unborn child on the altar of ambition then tried to kill herself when she could no longer handle the keening of her conscience. There were whispers that she didn't truly die, that the Jenova cells that made him as powerful as he was did the same for her, but he had no interest in finding her. He didn't care where she was, and he hoped she was in pain.

It wasn't as if he could have left Nibelheim to go looking for her anyway. He had been to several cities after his rebirth, but he was drawn to the tiny hamlet he had laid waste to so many years ago. Once he was there, he was stuck. He tried to leave, but soon discovered that the further he got from the town's borders, the weaker he became. Some force that didn't see fit to reveal itself to him kept him bound to the place.

He had set out on foot once to make his way to the Northern Crater, but once he was about ten miles out he collapsed, robbed of strength and barely able to breathe. If it weren't for some Nibelheim-bound travelers that eventually passed by and took him back, he would have died pitifully on the side of the road like a damn animal if some monster didn't come along and make a snack out of him first. Such a death would be completely beneath him and it made him nauseous just to think of it.

However, he was comforted by knowing how powerful his mind had become. Speaking with spirits was just one of the things he found himself newly able to do. He could also read minds and give people dreams and nightmares, and insert himself into them at will. It was hardly the kind of power that could be had with materia mastery-another ability of his that was sorely diminished-but it was something he could work with. He'd had limited success at planting suggestions and even directing others' actions, which pleased him greatly. If he could hone that ability, there would be no limit to what he could achieve to advance his vendetta against the human race. If only he could remember the details of that vendetta.

He trudged along the road back to Nibelheim with his head down and his hands jammed into the pockets of his coat, satisfied that he wasn't being followed. After walking like that for a while, he picked up the sound of a car's engine in the distance. As the noise grew louder, so did the giddy sensation in his chest. The closer it got, the more he was certain of who was behind the wheel, and that she was alone. _Tifa…_

~*~*~

Tifa sat behind the wheel of Cid's late model sedan. The interior smelled of antifreeze and engine lubricant, and she needed a crash course in driving a stick shift, but she was grateful for his generosity in letting her borrow it for as long as she needed it. While the sky was cloudless enough to allow the full moon to illuminate the road at the moment, that time of year was the rainy season, and she wouldn't have looked forward to making the journey on foot.

She felt her phone vibrate, but didn't need to look at it to know that it was Cloud again. It was the third time he'd called her since she'd left Rocket Town, but she didn't have it in her to talk to anyone at that moment. Especially not her friends, because that would mean she would have to explain why she was headed to Nibelheim and she had too much on her mind to try to come up with a suitable answer.

She was nervous, that much was certain. A few times during her trip she entertained the idea of turning the car around and heading back. The town was being rebuilt and she doubted if it looked anything like what she remembered, and she wasn't sure if that would make it easier or harder for her. The ghosts would still be there, waiting for her to face them and finally dismiss them. She was beginning to wonder if that was within her power.

She stared out ahead; trying to empty her mind, when she saw a figure about fifty yards ahead. A drifter, no doubt. She slowed the car as she passed him, but in the dim light she could only tell that the person was tall and lean with long, black hair.

Something about the person compelled her, and she wasn't sure if it was entirely out of compassion for a fellow traveler. She felt for a moment as if the notion to stop and offer the person a ride was inserted into her mind from elsewhere.

She dismissed the thought. Of course it was compassion. It was a cold night, and if she could help someone get to their destination faster, she wouldn't have been very happy with herself if she had refused. She stopped the car and rolled down the window as the traveler approached the driver's side.

When the person leaned down, it became clear that it was a man. That gave her pause when she recalled Dr. Holden's advice about the dangers of women traveling alone, but she could easily take care of herself. She had done it many times before.

"I can take you as far as Nibelheim if that's where you're headed," she said to the man whose features she could barely make out.

"I am," he replied, his tone soft and rich. She decided she liked his voice. "Thank you."

He walked around the front of the car to the passenger side and got in. Tifa froze when the dome light illuminated features she could have sworn she recognized, but a split second later those features seemed to blur into something unfamiliar and bland. She continued to look at him for a long moment after the door closed and the light went out, telling herself that she was being ridiculous for thinking this man in any way resembled Sephiroth.

"Is everything all right, Miss?"

"Um…yeah," she replied, turning back to the road, putting the car in gear. "It's just that for a second there I thought you looked familiar."

"If we had met before, I'm sure I would have remembered you." His tone was flattering and gentlemanly, not at all leering, and that put her at ease.

"Hm, same here. I guess I'm just more tired than I thought I was."

"The town's inn is quite comfortable and I'm sure there's a room available," he offered.

She didn't know if it was tiredness or not, but she felt a strong sensation of safety at that moment, as if no one, least of all the stranger beside her, wanted to harm her or would be able to if they did. She stole a glance at him and decided that it was the thoughts that had been weighing on her mind that tricked her into thinking her passenger ever resembled Sephiroth. If anything, he looked like he was part Wutai.

Beside her, Sephiroth leaned his head against the headrest, hoping the glamour hid the small, satisfied smile that settled over his borrowed features.

~*~*~


End file.
